Chapter 13 #2
Wrath’s tunic is neat, his pants sitting low on his hips. He leans against the back wall, hands tucked into his pockets. Wrath’s black hair is preposterously smooth and styled. He is the living embodiment of composure. Would it kill him to have a single flaw?
“A while.”
I huff an annoyed breath, collecting my discarded satchel from the floor. I sling it over my shoulder, then close the cover and lid to protect it from dust. Part of me longs to return to this room, to touch the keys again and rediscover the joy that once lived in every note.
“You play quite well,” Wrath says.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve complimented me,” I comment, knowing he will say something irreverent in return.
“Would you like me to praise you more?”
My jaw clenches. It’s not what I expected Wrath to say, but I won’t allow him to get a rise out of me.
I cross the room to where he’s standing, stopping before him.
Wrath is a figure carved from moonlight and shadow, the scar on his jaw catching in the faint light.
His magic coils around me like a snake waiting to bite.
I hate the sensation. Wrath watches me with a quiet intensity in return, and I catch the subtlest glint in his gaze as it lowers.
“Why are you damp, Raelys?” he asks, voice harsh.
“I got caught in the rain,” I admit.
“You went outside the castle?”
A bolt of panic shoots through me. “Am I not allowed?” I ask meekly, knotting up my hands in front of me.
“Who told you you’re not allowed to go outside?” He pushes away from the wall, standing upright. I preferred it when he was leaning, as now he looms over me.
I anticipate his anger at my insolence, hesitating for a moment. “No one…” my voice trails off. Wrath’s magic prickles up the back of my neck, causing me to squirm. In my discomfort, I continue rambling, “Back home, I was forbidden to leave the castle walls. So I just assumed—”
“Ever?”
“Yes…” I reply reluctantly.
Wrath’s brows draw together. “You’re telling me that when Gilead pulled you over the wall, that was the first time you had ever left?”
I nod.
The silence between us is deafening. I regret revealing that about myself. Wrath will only see me as the weak and sheltered princess who is too much of a liability to set loose. I grow restless under his scrutinizing gaze, feeling utterly inferior.
“You think less of me because of it?” I speak, unable to take the quiet much longer.
“I think more of you.”
I falter at his words. My lips part to speak, but nothing comes. The King of Wrath has no reason to be kind to me. He’s playing some twisted game. This is a trick to gain my trust or get me to do a favor for him in return. I can sense it.
“You don’t mean that.” I step away, desperate to escape the sensation of his magic.
“I do,” he replies firmly. “You can go wherever you like, Raelys. You are not bound to these walls.”
“Why would you say that?” I push open the door and exit into the hallway. I don’t believe his words. “When I am your prisoner.”
My mind reels at the thought that someone handed me freedom so easily, as if it meant nothing.
I’ve fought for it for so long, desperate for the tiniest sliver of independence, and now it’s been given to me by the man I loathe.
It doesn’t make sense. None of this does.
I should be planning my escape from the North, not cozying up to the king.
What am I thinking? His game is obvious.
Wrath wants me to let some information slip—something he can use against the South.
Wrath follows me. “If you were a prisoner, you’d be chained in the dungeon,” he challenges.
“It’s fifteen days to Crossgate. Twenty to Grimhold Crossing.
If you can manage to open the keystone arch and travel back through the mountains, I’d be impressed.
” Wrath rattles off the travel routes with ease.
“Therefore, you wandering around the town doesn’t worry me. ”
“Because I am trapped here,” I reply bitterly, hating this feeling of always being a tool to control.
“You came on your own volition, Raelys,” Wrath reminds me. It wasn’t a real choice, though. I would have never made it home from Avelisar by myself. He knew that and leveraged it against me.
“I had no other choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” he counters. “Like the choice you made to enter that room.”
“I got lost on my way back.” I huff in annoyance.
“Are you implying my castle is more grandiose than yours back home?” he taunts.
“No.” I scoff. “It is like the magic changes the corridors as I walk.” I turn my head and speak to the walls directly, gesturing to them as if they can hear me.
“It does no such thing.”
“Then maybe I require a map to get around,” I comment under my breath before changing the subject. “If it isn’t magic in the castle, what is it?”
He hummed. “It’s magic, but not all of it. It’s a shell of what it once was, an ember slowly burning out.”
Confusion washes over me. “Your magic is dying off?”
“It’s a curse that limits us from accessing our full powers,” he explains.
“How do you know it’s a curse?”
“You passed your room six doors ago,” Wrath points out, ignoring my question entirely.
Halting my steps, I turn and look behind me. Sure enough, my room is down the hall. I glance back at the king, a dozen questions still lingering on my lips. I don’t ask them.
Instead, I simply reply, “Goodnight.”